Chapter Sixteen

 

It had been a month since Lucy had awoken from her slumber, and earlier today she accompanied Andrew to the home of Lord Grant Lunton, the Duke of Longate, and his wife, the Lady Sofia Lunton. The house was an imposing structure with four towering spikes and ivy-covered stone walls, and Lucy found the residents as rigid and ceremonious as their home.

They had arrived at the house just after noon, and much to Lucy’s ire, she had been ushered off to peruse the grounds with the Duchess as Andrew and Lord Lunton burrowed themselves into the study to discuss business or so they had said. Lucy did not mind the gardens so much—they were quite lovely—but the Duchess, a stiff woman at least ten years Lucy’s elder with ash colored hair, alabaster skin and wide, doe eyes, was less inclined to discussion than the basset hound that followed behind them.

The day seemed to drag on as the Duchess led Lucy to the drawing room after their stroll to share in embroidery, a task Lucy enjoyed, but only for short periods of time. Though the results were lovely, the work was tedious and boring after a while, and Lucy thought she could have used a portion of her time more wisely reading a good book or remaining outside and listening to the birds sing. Her hostess, however, preferred to be indoors. “All that bright sunshine and the loud songs of the birds make my head ache,” she explained. In all honesty, Lucy wished she had brought Hannah with her; at least then someone interesting would have been on hand with whom to have a respectable amount of conversation.

Now, after many hours of boredom, Lucy sat next to Andrew at the large dining room table as a liveried footman served dinner. The Duchess wore the tempered expression she had worn all day and, though she did not seem unhappy per se, did not deign to smile. It was not that she was rude, nor was she outright unkind, but she was crisp and precise in everything she did, as if the dictates of her station were of the utmost importance, even more important than friendship or companionship. So many members of the peerage Lucy had met over her lifetime were much like this woman, and it frightened her to think that she could be expected to behave in much the same way.

“Thank you for inviting us to your lovely home,” Lucy said as the footman placed a small plate with what looked like a plain pound cake for desert. They had already consumed a clear broth for their first course and a thin slice of beef accompanied by unseasoned potatoes for their main course. Even the food was dreary and boring.

“It is a pleasure to have you here,” the Duke replied. The man was much more animated than his wife; so much so, Lucy wondered how it came about that the two had wed in the first place. “I hope you and my wife have enjoyed your time together.”

Lucy doubted highly that the Duchess had indeed enjoyed Lucy’s company, but Lucy replied with the expected “Of course. I have appreciated the time she has given me.”

This seemed to please Andrew, who smiled widely at her. “It has been a pleasure meeting with you, Longate,” he said. “Not only for business, but as a friend. I must have you come and visit Chudleigh Hill soon and dine with us, is that not right, my dear?”

Lucy forced a thin smile. “That would be lovely,” she lied. Though, as she thought more about it, she wondered if such a visit would not do the Duchess a bit of good. Perhaps she had not had many opportunities for diversion?

“That would be lovely indeed,” replied Lord Longate. “Though, I am afraid I do not get out as much as I should. Business, you know.”

“Oh, yes, I know all too well,” Andrew replied. “However, if you ever find the time, send me a letter and we will make arrangements.”

Lucy sneaked a glance at the Duchess, who had paled even more somehow at the prospect of leaving her house. Lucy wondered if the woman would sick up right there and then. Pity was the only emotion that Lucy could feel for this poor woman. She only hoped she did not become the hermit-type.

“How about a drink, Balfour?” the Duke asked as he pushed back his chair. “The women can have coffee in the drawing room while we finish our discussion over a brandy. They have no head for these types of discussion, and,” —he leaned in and lowered his voice, but Lucy could still hear his words— “what man wishes to listen to the drawlings of a woman?” He gave a hearty laugh before sitting up again and adding in a much louder voice, “You do have time, do you not?”

Andrew nodded. “But of course,” he replied. “I can spare another hour before we must leave.” He turned to Lucy. “You go along, my dear, and I come for you when I am ready.”

Lucy had to swallow the retort that threatened to explode from her lips. How dare he dictate to her what she should and should not do! Of course, his treatment of her must have been for the benefit of the Duke and his wife, but it did not excuse it in the least. However, Lucy gave him a curt nod and narrowed her eyes just enough to inform him how his actions made her feel before she followed the Duchess to the other room, once again to take up the tedious task of adding decorations to a pillow case in silence.

If this was what life would be like after a few years of marriage to Andrew, she did not want any part of it.

***

Lucy hurried through the house with her hand covering her mouth to stifle a giggle that was attempting to escape. She and Andrew had returned to Chudleigh Hill an hour earlier, and Andrew had immediately gone to bed. Lucy, on the other hand, had been so angry with him for putting her through such a horrid experience that she had decided to go to the drawing room and read. However, rather than simply reading, she had also determined that a nice glass of brandy would help her sleep well. So, with her ire still great, she poured herself a measure of the amber liquid and sat down in one of the large comfortable wing chairs before the fireplace to read.

Several glasses later—Lucy had lost count after the third—had Lucy feeling much more relaxed, and even a bit giddy. Yes, more than a bit giddy, but at the time, Lucy was not thinking all that clearly to know the difference. Soon, she was pacing the floor and speaking aloud to herself. Of course, much later, she would wonder if anyone had heard her strange rantings of how unfair life was and how conflicted she was concerning her feelings for Andrew—at one moment she was still angry with him, not just for dragging him to that boring place this evening, but for simply being who he was, and then wondering what he looked like beneath the white shirt he wore to dinner.

However, just after midnight, she had finally decided it was time to go to bed and so this was how she was found hurrying down the hallway, bleary-eyed and stumbling, before stopping before the door that led to Andrew’s room. The man had said very little on their return journey, but he kept sending quick glances her way. Lucy preferred the quiet, for she was much too angry with Andrew to have had a decent conversation, and it seemed to Lucy that it was very likely that Andrew sensed her mood. Now, however, she wished his company, thus the reason for listening at his door. No sounds came from the room, and after much deliberation, she decided it would be best to simply go to her bedroom instead. What was the use of waking the man so late anyway?

Once in her bedroom, she glanced in the mirror, but found it difficult to see her reflection clearly. Ah, what does it matter? She thought angrily. No, she would not allow her mood to turn; she was enjoying herself all too much at the moment.

A knock came to the door just as Lucy had managed to slip her nightdress over head after several stumbling attempts. “Yes?” she called out and then giggled. What a strange word, she thought, but her humor evaporated when Andrew was the person who stood in the doorway when the door was opened. He wore a thin night shirt and linen drawers and nothing else. Lucy had never seen him in such a state of undress, and she had to admit that what she saw was quite interesting indeed.

“Andrew?” she said breathily as she inched toward him, a strange feeling of heat coursing through her body. “What-what are you doing here?”

“I have come to see that you have gotten to bed safely,” he replied in a husky voice.

She grabbed the bedpost to steady herself, but she had waited too long; he had seen her unsteady gate.

“I see you have been drinking a bit of brandy.” His voice held a bit of amusement, and if Lucy had been in her right mind, she would have been offended. However, at the moment, she was not in her right mind, so she simply smiled at him.

“And what if I have?” she asked with a jut of her chin. “This is my room. I believe your room is down the hall.”

He chuckled lightly. “I believe tonight it is our room,” he replied, moving toward her until he stood directly before her. He wore a sly smile and Lucy would have enjoyed slapping it off his arrogant face—if she could have managed to do so. Despite the arrogance, he did have a handsome face, and Lucy found herself compelled to him.

“So, you mean to take advantage me in my current state?” she whispered, inwardly hoping he would reply that he would indeed do so.

He said nothing as he moved closer to her still, and Lucy found her breathing had become short gasps. Then his lips were pressing against hers, and instinctively, she placed her hands on his firm chest, reveling in the contour of his muscled body as she grabbed at the thin fabric.

“There,” he said in a choked voice, “that was not so bad, was it?”

Lucy’s legs felt weak, and if he had picked her up and flung her on the bed at that moment, she would not have resisted, for that kiss had awakened a passion she never knew existed within her.

However, a defiance deep inside, a saving grace of some sort, rose from within her and she found herself saying, “I hope you do not think you will sleep in my bed tonight.” The words felt foreign and contradictory to what her body felt, but her mind, even as hazy as it was, agreed.

He held her hands and looked down at her with a small smile. “Do not forget that I am a Duke, and therefore a gentleman. I would not dare to assume such a thing as taking you to bed in your current condition.”

“But you would assume to kiss me?”

He nodded, his grin widening.

“Very well, but you are not the only one.” She reached up on the tips of her toes and kissed him. As his arms moved to embrace her, however, she lightly pushed him away. “There, now we are even. Good night.”

Rather than leaving as she had made it clear that she wished him to do, he pushed past her and headed to the bed. Her heart beat against her chest as she watched him pull back the covers, but then it fell as he removed a blanket and pillow from the bed and placed them in the chair in which he had sat after her accident.

“What are you doing?” she demanded.

“I am going to sleep,” he replied simply, as if her question had been silly.

“There?”

“Yes.”

“Well, if that is what you wish,” she said as she crawled into her bed and pulled the remaining covers up to her chin.

He extinguished the lamp and she listened as he positioned himself in the chair and covered himself with the blanket without so much as a word.

“I am in no condition to stop you from coming to my bed,” she whispered. Somehow, she hoped he would hear the invitation she had not meant to include in those words.

“I know,” he replied, “but I will remain here.”

The crescent moon cast a weak light into the room and Lucy could make out a shadowy hill that she knew was Andrew sitting awkwardly in the chair. As she lay there staring at that shadow, her lips tingled at a lingering memory of the kisses they had shared. And as she drifted off to sleep, she knew that another shared kiss would happen sooner rather than later.